


it will be okay.

by gayblockz (lizandre)



Series: trans fundy pog [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And more Trans Fundy stories in general, Angst, Author is Mayhaps projecting, Fundy centric, Fundy has abandonment issues, Fundy misses his dad, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt with an Illusion of Comfort, I think there should be more Trans Angst for Fundy ngl, Trans Character, Trans Floris | Fundy, Trans Male Character, and irl shipping is kinda weirdchamp personally, important disclaimer: this is purely about their smp characters, irl fundy is cis, most other characters are just mentioned, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandre/pseuds/gayblockz
Summary: George.Was that the one he was replaced with?Out of the million ways in which George was objectively better than Fundy, one stuck out.George was a real man.
Relationships: (also mentioned) - Relationship, (mentioned) - Relationship, Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, romance is not the focus - Relationship
Series: trans fundy pog [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056434
Comments: 26
Kudos: 417





	it will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tad bit projection so uhhhhhhh :^) prepare yourselves i guess

Fundy sat on the docks, his feet gliding on the surface of the water as he slowly, absentmindedly swung them back and forth, his claws digging into the wood he was sitting on, desperately trying to cling onto the present world, grounding him, the last lifeline between him and his venomous thoughts.

His fiancé loved him. There was no other way, they spent a lovely date together, that evening meant so much, although now Fundy began to question if it meant as much to Dream as it did to him.

Dream would never cheat on him. Even if he didn’t love Fundy anymore, he would say it, he would never just leave him lying around if he didn’t want him anymore. Dream was many things, but he was not a liar, well, not to Fundy, not about anything non-political. And, well, this had zero politics involved in it! Even though the lovers fought a war against each other, their fondness was not that of former enemies.

Well, now Fundy began to question whether that fondness was only a wild act of his imagination, too.

This was ridiculous, really, questioning Dream right now, their wedding is in a few days, after all, he would’ve called off the wedding a long time ago if he didn’t want to marry Fundy anymore. Why else would he not mention the wedding at all? Surely it’s because he has no regrets!

Surely.

Does…

Does Dream remember about the wedding?

Fundy’s claws plunged into the wood with a newfound strength, burying themselves deep into the oak planks, and he tried to hold back tears. His mind raced, paranoias piercing him quicker than he could process them.

George.

Was that the one he was replaced with?

He should’ve known. He should’ve guessed, should’ve foreseen, should have known all along.

Out of the million ways in which George was objectively better than Fundy, one stuck out.

George was a man.

A real man, a man that was always a man, an unmistakable man, the type of man who didn’t have to correct anyone or assert his identity to anyone, the type of man who was never put under question, the type of man who never felt like a liar for saying his own name.

Tears spilled from Fundy’s eyes, onto his cheeks and mixing into the water of the ocean, supplying oxygen to thousands of salmon in the nearest river. He didn’t hold back, there was no point to, no manly façade could cover up who he really was.

Foxes were tricksters, deceivers, liars, and Fundy was no exception, lying with every breath and every step he made, every waking hour he was nothing more than a liar, and with every word he tricked more people into his personal delusion, one that only the bravest will dare to question.

Fundy curled up in a ball. He didn’t know who to go to, who to talk to, who would listen.

He’d usually have conversations like this with his father. Late nights, or early mornings, or sizzling middays, when he would approach his father and sheepishly ask him if he was a real boy. His father’s initial face of shock and concern would then soften up, and he would pull his son into a hug, and tell him that he was absolutely a real boy, and that he will grow into a real man, and that there was no doubt about it and anyone who said otherwise were just objectively wrong and there was no point in listening to them.

Fundy’s father was dead now, though.

Ghostbur was merely a shell of what was previously Wilbur Soot, the spirit couldn’t even remember serious conversations, let alone handle them. There was Phil, and he was great, but Fundy doubted he’d understand, and right now the fox boy really didn’t feel like explaining. Fundy couldn’t bear trying to even see Eret, and talking to him about this would be overkill. Fundy couldn’t imagine anybody else even trying to give him what he needs right now.

A soft sob escaped him, as the intensity of his tears began slowing down.

He really missed his dad.

Sometimes he wished he would’ve fled L’Manburg when Wilbur and Tommy were exiled, too. He wished he’d drop everything and chase after his father, grab him as hard as a boy can and never let go. Maybe then their relationship wouldn’t be like this. Maybe then Wilbur wouldn’t have blown up the country his son was raised in. Maybe then he would’ve at least been proud of his son when he died.

Fundy stood up, staring at the water one last time.

“My name is Fundy,” he whispered to himself. “And I am a man.”

The sentence felt so right and so wrong to say at the same time. He felt sick, feeling the discomfort piling up in his chest.

Tears began forming in the corners of his eyes. He wiped them this time, storming away from the docks. Entering the van, it felt both nostalgic and artificial, like a lie that one tells their loved ones to comfort them, but which doesn’t become true no matter how many times it is repeated.

Fundy curled up under one of the counters, trying to ignore the obvious fakeness and unauthenticity of the van, and closed his eyes, trying to pretend everything was alright.

In a few hours, his father will gently wake him up from his nap, laughing at the boy’s sleepy, disoriented eyes. Wilbur will cradle him into his arms, and sing him a song, which Fundy will sing along to, stumbling on the notes. Wilbur will tell him he’s proud of him regardless.

And afterwards, with a fond kiss on his forehead, his father will ensure him.

It will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> YEP this was absolutely projection, esp on the feeling like a liar part.
> 
> Kudos and comments highly appreciated! Thank you for reading my writing <3
> 
> Pls comment if u can, it's really motivating, don't feel pressured tho :)


End file.
